


Interlude

by ThatFeanorian



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Foreshadowing?, I assume they had whipped cream in arda, Kidfic, Maeglin is the cutest little child ever, background abusive relationship vibes, but they're not a major part of the story, strawberries and whipped cream is the best dessert, the place of women in society
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:41:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27043660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatFeanorian/pseuds/ThatFeanorian
Summary: Aredhel and Maeglin share a family moment in a rare moment of freedom and happiness.
Relationships: Aredhel & Maeglin | Lómion, Aredhel/Celegorm | Turcafinwë (implied), Aredhel/Eöl (Tolkien)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 18
Collections: Innumerable Stars 2020





	Interlude

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Isilloth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Isilloth/gifts).



Eol’s mood changes like the weather-- this Irissë knows. It can be nothing but sun --love and affection and care-- one moment and then suddenly it is the blackest of storms, clouds moving in far too fast for her to dispel them until the whole house is blackened by his anger and Lómion comes to her, trembling, with tears running down his face and hides against her chest, his body shaking with the force of his tears. 

And it is not her place to argue. Never her place. 

Irissë remembers a time not so long ago before the harsh ugliness of ‘Aredhel’ became who she was when she had never heard the words ‘remember your place.’ She remembers a time when she was free to run beyond the trees and into the trees and within the light of a different world and all the words she had were arguments and she had not been happy.

Looking back, Irissë wonders if running away was really worth what she has now. But of course, she hadn’t ever meant to run here. Never here. All she had wanted was one night with a cousin who loved the trees as much as she did and never would have told her to remember her place. 

The only way you can tell time here, Irissë has found, is by watching the faint greenish light that filters through the gloom of the trees, occasionally disappearing altogether. Now, it is morning. Morning means gathering fungi from the front garden, an assortment of mushrooms which she manages to make taste good by adding leaves and broth and bits of meat Eol brings back from the woods. Irissë remembers times when she was a guest at great feasts, full of fresh fruits and juicy meats and fresh warm bread soaked in butter and milk. She remembers the luscious silks and satins of the robes of nobles, parading around like colorful birds in their elaborate costumes. 

Irissë remembers making fun of these nobles, disdaining their pomp, and the indignity of their groveling. Now, she is resigned to cooking and cleaning everything by herself in a way she did not even know how to do before The Ice. This daily routine brings back memories she thought she had buried enough they would never see the light of day again. And yet, now she is in the dark again, not the light. It is not only washing clothes and cooking meals that reminds her of a time she would rather forget.

The house is absolutely silent as she leaves her bed and dresses, listening for any sign of movement beyond her door. Hallways are abandoned and it is not until she reaches the kitchen that she even hears the natural sounds of the forest. In the semi-darkness of Eol’s abode, there is nothing but emptiness and the occasional deep croaking of the too-large frogs that live in the pond behind the house. Lómion likes to poke at their bulbous yellowish eyes and to feed them scraps of squirrel meat from his dinner. 

“Nana!” Lómion squeals with joy when she enters the kitchen, bouncing up and down on his seat and giving her a glowing gap-toothed smile. 

“You gonna make us something yummy?” He asks, his voice high and lisping, and Irissë cannot help but smile, taking him into her arms in a warm hug. Lómion, at least, she will protect. He is a gem, shining bright in the darkness of her life, and she will keep him safe and happy and perhaps one day… perhaps one day she will take him to see the light.

For now, she nods and sets him back down in his chair, looking over his shoulder to see that in large messy Tengwar Lómion has repeatedly written his name. She kisses him gently on the cheek,

“That looks lovely, my darling.” She commends, moving away to light a fire beneath the stove. 

“Nana?” Lómion’s voice is small and conspiratorial now, his eyes alight with hope as he whispers,

“Nana, Ada’s sleeping right now and we have berries from when we went to the forest yesterday and Ada doesn’t know. Can I have the special surprise?” Irissë pauses, sending her son a conspiratorial look and raising an eyebrow, 

“Do you want to help me?” She asks, and Lómion eagerly nods, hopping off his chair and hurrying over to look up at her with wide innocent dark eyes,

“What do I need to do first?” Irissë places a finger to her chin, pretending to think before responding,

“Well, I’ll need to find the berries, but I’m sure that’s  _ far _ too difficult a task for you, little one.” Lómion hops in front of her eagerly tugging at her dress,

“No, Nana, I’m big now I can find them!” Irissë leans down to press another loving kiss to the top of his head and replying,

“Are you sure? Yes? Okay… you go find them then, and I will get the secret ingredients.” Lómion squeals with excitement, running off on his short legs to search the pantry shelves for the fresh strawberries Irissë had found in a single ray of golden sunlight nearly a mile’s walk from the house. There is a bit of cream, a product of one of Eol’s more recent trips beyond the forest, and Irissë takes a spoon and begins to beat it quickly, switching between hands as her arms get tired. 

Of course, her husband’s trips are fairly frequent, his business with dwarves sending him beyond the confines of his precious forest regularly and returning with carefully rationed materials, milk and cream, vegetables and fruits, and every once in awhile flour and grains for bread. None of this is ever given to her freely, instead, she must explain to her husband what she wishes to make in order to receive the materials she needs. 

It is not her place to take control of their trade products. It is not her place to ration their edible goods. It is not her place to see an apple for the first time in years and devour it with the hunger of a starving orc. Never her place. 

But Eol is sleeping now; he will never know if she uses the last of the cream and secretly picked berries to give her son happiness. He is so rarely happy, surrounded by only grey carnivorous toads and the gloomy faint green light of the forest floor. Irissë takes every moment she can to sneak treats and love in between the lonesome monotony of his daily life. 

Lómion comes bouncing back into the room a moment later as Irissë finishes whipping up the cream, turning it light and fluffy. He has berry juice all over his face already and Irissë gives him a playful grin,

“There won’t be any left if you eat them all before the secret ingredient is ready!” She says, moving the bowl to the middle of the dining table and pulling Lómion onto her lap. He squirms in excitement, reaching for the fruits and eagerly taking a strawberry and scooping a large amount of the fluffy cream out of the bowl and pushing the whole thing into his mouth. He grins up at her, the cream escaping from his mouth and leaving a mustache of light foamy white on his upper lip. Irissë laughs, reaching over with a napkin to wipe it off. 

Lómion’s eyes are bright and happy, unobstructed by the cloudiness of his father’s anger and full of curiosity and joy of youth. If Irissë had her way, he would look like this all the time: so full of life and excitement and joy, but it is not her place. After so long, Irissë knows her place very well. 

She reaches over and takes her own berry from the small bowl Lómion brought with him and dips it into the fluffy white cream, taking it out and touching the tip of Lómion’s nose with it, leaving behind a little dot of the white cream.

“Nana!” he squeals, and she laughs as he reaches up to wipe it off, only to have her come back and replace it with another one. Lómion giggles, going cross-eyed to try to touch his tongue to his nose to lick the cream off. He gives up after a moment and simply reaches over, grabbing his own cream-covered berry and giving her an evil grin.

“Your turn!” he exclaims, reaching up and Irissë bursts into laughter as he wipes a little streak of the cream onto her cheek. Reaching over with her finger, Irissë scoops another blob of cream out of the bowl and wipes it on Lómion’s chin, giving him a mannish beard, which makes him squeal in delight. Irissë laughs along with him and for a moment, everything is perfect. 

Lómion’s laughter fills her up with all the warmth and sunlight she has been lacking. It makes her glow, to know that he is happy and that she is the one who has made him such. Reaching over, she smears a little more cream onto his chin and laughs as his small hands dip deep into the cream and reach up towards her face. 

He looks so childlike, an echo of a memory of her younger brothers and cousins, the slightest curve of his cheek reminding her of her niece. Irissë wants to cry, to laugh, to hold her son because it will never be her place to tell him all of those stories or to lead him beyond the murky forest and out into the fast-fading light of her memories. 

Lómion lets out a high-pitched squeal of laughter and falls backward off his low chair, landing on his back with his entire body shaking with the force of his laughter. Irissë jumps out of her seat and runs over to him, pressing kisses to his messy sticky forehead. 

“Did you hurt yourself?” she asks and he looks up at her with eyes sparkling with laughter and light and shakes his head, then as suddenly as the crack of lightning, the joy that had previously lightened his face vanishes and he looks up nervously at something behind Irissë.

“What is going on here?” Eol’s voice is dangerous and cool, not at all like the warm and affectionate baritone that it can sometimes be. Irissë-- no she is Aredhel. She must remember that. Aredhel scoops Lómion into her arms and stands up, meeting Eol’s eye with more defiance than she normally cares to reveal.

“We are playing,” She says, matching his voice in her own frigidity and warning. Eol raises an eyebrow and leans over to wipe a streak of the whipped cream off of Lómion’s cheek. 

“This is no way for a son of  _ mine _ to behave,” he says sternly, casting an accusing eye over at Lómion who’s lip wobbles as he clings to Aredhel’s front, and she cannot seem, no matter how hard she tries, to meet his eye, to accuse back, to argue, to scream the words she wants to. 

Instead, she stands silently as Eol takes Lómion from her arms and sets him on the floor, telling him that he can walk and therefore should do so. She stays silent as they exit the room and Lómion throws her one last pleading look. She stays silent when later that night she hears him crying. 

After all, time has passed and she is Aredhel now.

She knows her place.


End file.
